


Love and Torment

by Wasuremono



Category: The Haunting of Hill House - Shirley Jackson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 12:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13053834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wasuremono/pseuds/Wasuremono
Summary: Hill House offers Theo some clarity. It doesn't offer any comfort.





	Love and Torment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youshallnotfinditso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youshallnotfinditso/gifts).



> NOTE: This story contains references to gaslighting and other elements of psychological abuse in relationships, as well as canon-appearing or canon-typical horror themes. Please be aware before you read and keep yourself safe.
> 
> Happy Yuletide, youshallnotfinditso! Well, this isn't really a "happy" Yuletide per se, but I hope this story finds you well. Theo and Nell are a pretty fascinating pair to me, and it was interesting to focus on Theo and also to integrate some modern AU elements. Hope you enjoy!

Three miles past Hillsdale on the road to Hill House, Theodora watched her cell-phone signal die with a sort of guilty gratitude. Reception had been shaky ever since they'd left Ashton, and her initial hope that it might hold on had gradually shifted to worry, as the reality that having a working phone for three months of isolation might be worse than not having one. Falling out of contact made this all a great adventure, a bit like she'd always imagined summer camp was like, right down to riding there in a van driven by a cheery bearded man. (Dr. Montague had kept a CD of old folk songs playing for the entire ride so far, which was also terribly summer-campy, wasn't it?) It would be a three-month vacation from the city, from freelancing, from Molly and her temper. With the phone... well, it would be three months of the worst part of her everyday life. Dreary emails asking her to work "for exposure," dire news feeds, and texts from Molly that would make their last fight last three months. God, that one had been bad, but two days of travel later, and Theo couldn't even remember what it was about. Yes, better to be without the phone and clear her head.

Theo slipped the phone into her pocket, leaned back in her seat, and let the last few miles slip away in a haze of Peter, Paul and Mary hits. When the van finally stopped, she lurched back to full consciousness and slipped out the door. She and Dr. Montague were the last to arrive, it looked like; parked in the broad driveway were two other cars, one a sleek burgundy BMW and the other a square econobox, of the color charitably called "champagne" but more accurately a dingy beige. Leaning on the BMW was a slim young man in a casually disheveled shirt and trousers, sunglasses pushed up onto his forehead, and he stood up as Theo stepped out of the van. "You must be Theodora and Dr. Montague?"

"That's us," said Theo as she grabbed her suitcase from the back of the van. "You can probably guess who is who."

"Charmed. I'm Luke Sanderson. The other girl's gone on ahead -- I think Mrs. Dudley was showing her around the old heap. Quite a sight, isn't it?"

Theo looked up at Hill House for the first time, and she inhaled sharply. The thing really _was_ a sight -- certainly old and weathered, but also malformed in a way that Theo couldn't quite articulate. She'd never known much about architecture, but the building looked _wrong,_ and in a way that suggested deliberate perversity of construction. Who built a house perversely, though? And why?

Theo was suddenly aware of the weight of her phone in her pocket, and she realized it was a very good thing that she'd taken it with her. Even without connection, it was a camera and a journal, and Hill House was going to be something she'd need to document. She took a few quick shots of the looming front exterior, not amazing shots but good enough to send to her friend with the architecture blog, and began to circle around the side of the house, onto the ill-kept lawn. As she backed up to get the jagged roofline in frame, her calves hit a shape in the grass, and it was all she could do to keep from pitching over. A hand on her back steadied her, and Theo turned to find a rather sheepish-looking girl standing behind her, pulling her hand away from Theo's back. "I'm so sorry," the girl said. "I was exploring, and I wasn't paying attention, and... well, you understand, don't you?"

Theo thought she understood, if not quite in the way that the girl expected. She'd seen that half-embarrassed face before, and that nervous posture, worn by new arrivals at her art group and first-timers at the dyke bar. It was the look of someone stepping into a new world, thrilled despite being scared out of their skin, or maybe because of it -- because of the sheer excitement of fresh fear. They were dear creatures, a bit like rabbits, and they always made Theo smile. Whatever Dr. Montague had seen in this girl, and whatever she had to be excited about in this hideous old house, there was a spark here of something interesting.

"Oh, no worries," Theo began. "Did you find anything wonderful?"

"There's a beautiful woodland behind the house," the girl said, "and inside... inside, it's really unusual. Have you found a room yet? Oh, no, you've got your suitcase -- you've just arrived. We should find you a room. I'm Eleanor, by the way -- Eleanor Vance."

"Theodora. Charmed to meet you," Theo said, and meant it.

* * *

Theo began taking notes on her phone during that first evening in the parlor, while Dr. Montague explained the place's history and she curled up in a delightfully oversized chair. A tour of the house had revealed that the perversity she'd seen outside extended to the interior as well, with wall and floor angles subtly skewed. Building a house that way that still stood as a house had to be deliberate, didn't it? And the first owner built it for his wife and daughters... it wasn't a nice concept, but Theo wrote it down nonetheless:

_
  * Weird house built by commission for Crain -- gaslighting attempt on wife? 
    * "Carriage accident" -- folk history/euphemism for suicide?
    * Daughters happy in house. Groomed by Crain?
    * Suicide of companion/GF after Crain daughter's death? Abuse/grooming?
_ 


Normally Theo was irritated by her phone notepad's tendency to make bulleted lists, but for this, it seemed appropriate. Her thoughts were unpleasant and scattered, and she could only think to blame the house for this sort of dark fixation. Why did it even matter, anyway? It wasn't as if the place was going to claim the sanity of any more young brides. The ghastly Crain family were all dead, and the Sandersons seemed pleasant enough, if Luke was any indication. He was good company and a good sport -- the kind of guy you took out to the clubs, even if you didn't trust him to hold your purse. Definitely not the kind of guy who would bring a woman here to drive her insane, if only because he wouldn't be able to stand it out here himself. This place wasn't any danger to anyone any longer, so why did it nag at her?

Maybe it was Dr. Montague's insistence that there was something real behind it all, and something worth studying, that was bothering her. When she'd tried the card test in the laboratory, she'd done worst on the tests with self-important researchers, as if whatever force was in her mind was as dismayed by their seriousness as she was. Then again, if that was the case here, she'd go through all three months without a whiff of a ghost, wouldn't she? As for the others... well, Dr. Montague would be trying too hard. Luke might see a thing or two, but that'd probably be his own stir-craziness. Eleanor...

Eleanor would see something. Eleanor _wanted_ to see something, even if she insisted her first incident had been the product of angry neighbors. Eleanor played with absurd fantasy games, like their "history" recitation earlier, with uttermost intensity. Eleanor would see the ghosts, or she would make the ghosts, Theo could tell. When this type didn't find whatever they'd hoped to find... well, things got messy. Out in the real world, that was usually good fun. In here, though? Probably not so much.

Theo started another bullet point:

_
  * Eleanor. Figure out her deal.
_ 


* * *

The next day, Eleanor's deal came out in one long rush, after a morning of exploring Hill House and hitting dead ends at every turn. Looking around the place made Theo feel cold and dark, not inclined to talking, but it freed Eleanor's tongue; that afternoon, Theo refreshed her nail polish and let Eleanor talk. Her story was the kind of thing Theo was used to from the rabbit type -- the tyrant parent, the long terrible obligation -- the sort of thing that always made Theo think, helplessly, of her own mother. Of Molly's father. Some days, of Molly herself.

"You should go back to school," said Theo when she decided to get a word in edgewise. "Whatever it's for. A BA's better than nothing, and you said you had some money to live on, didn't you?"

"Well, yes," Eleanor replied, "but... I'm not sure I'd know where to start."

"Start wherever you like." Theo turned her hand over to look at the fresh coat of cheerful green on her nails. She was starting to regret not bringing more shades; as nice as the green was, she could tell she'd need variety here. "Spend a while waitressing or doing Uber or whatever while you figure it out."

"Oh, no, I -- I told myself, I couldn't take a job like that. A job where I had to serve others that way. Not after Mother."

"I can't say you're wrong. I've been tempted to throw in the towel myself, you know, but I'm lucky to have a trust. You're lucky to have an inheritance. You think it'll keep you going a while?"

Eleanor's eyes darted away from Theo's. "A little while. I've got... to buy all my things. For the apartment."

"Well, don't spoil us starving artists _too_ dearly, or you'll starve yourself. But that's enough of this talk. Eleanor, why don't you let me do your nails?"

Eleanor shrunk back, and Theo remembered that touch from their collision -- the way Eleanor'd pulled back her hand quickly, like a child touching a hot stove. "You don't want to, Theo," Eleanor said. "My hands are awful."

"Oh, fine, if you insist. I suppose we'll sit here and wait for ghosts."

Later, when the knocking began and Eleanor made her way into her room, Theo came to regret that. Something about self-fulfilling prophecies, wasn't it? But the knocking kept up even after Eleanor was tightly held in her arms. A real ghost, then, or one of the others, but neither of them seemed like the pranking type. Nonetheless...

 _This is a house that drives women mad,_ she said to herself as Eleanor clung to her.

* * *

Eleanor was making her own ghosts. Theo knew it from the moment she opened her bedroom door to the stench of blood, the trail leading to her wardrobe, and she threw it open heedless of the red smears on her hand. Everything was ruined -- all the cheerful clothes she'd packed for a silly summer, covered in stinking brown-red. ELEANOR, written on the wardrobe, as if she was signing her work.

She knew how this went. She'd been there with Molly, before, and with girlfriends before her; something "accidentally" ruined, something you have to borrow, charity you have to accept. She lay on her bed, surrounded by sticky metallic stink, as Eleanor and the men made the plans for her. She'd borrow Eleanor's clothes and sleep in Eleanor's room -- of course, of course -- she'd be indebted to her. Indebted to the destroyer. Wasn't that the way it always worked?

When she rose from her spoiled bed, she looked at Eleanor, looking for some sense of triumph. When she found only conflicted fear in that face, no trace of rabbity excitement, was when she really began to worry. That wasn't the look of a gaslighter, and Eleanor wasn't a good actor. Who was driving who mad? Maybe... maybe this would be for the best. They could keep a watch on each other.

Yes, Theo would make the best of it. She always took what she'd earned with a smile on her face, didn't she? Because to be tormented was to be loved. Always. She threw her arms around Eleanor, laughing, heedless of the blood.

* * *

Eleanor was docile as a lamb, and over the next few days, Theo allowed herself to relax a little. If Eleanor was desperate for her touch and approval, was that such a bad thing? She had to remind herself to return to her phone, to take little notes, to try and organize thoughts that often seemed fleeting:

_
  * Last night: Eleanor reaching for my hand. Didn't offer it in return. Thought she didn't like contact?
  * Went out for strawberries. Everything normal, nice. Sanity reigns, for once.
  * Hugh Crain horrible, Pacific Ocean wet
  * Ghostly chills kicking up. Who has thermostat access? Mrs. Dudley?
_ 


The ghosts kicked up again when Mrs. Montague arrived, and Theo's heart sank as she put the pieces together. Eleanor -- Nell, she thought, a term of familiarity that was becoming more and more comfortable even if it shouldn't -- had gotten what she wanted from her earlier audience, but with a new one, as credulous as Mrs. Montague seemed to be? That was ripe for it. Yes, the pattern was obvious. The harder part was breaking away.

It was such an easy cycle for her, Theo knew, with a sick certainty. There was something satisfying in receiving attention, _any_ attention, and her subconscious was well-practiced in feeding that cycle to the utmost. Even with the smell of blood and the floating ELEANOR in her mind, she couldn't resist letting it all play out.

But she had to. Eleanor was starting to ask about going home with her. The "ghosts" were getting worse. This had to end, and Theo resolved to end it the only way she could.

That night, when Eleanor rose to walk the house, Theo heard her rise but stayed in her bed. She willed herself back to sleep, and dreamed peacefully of an old college girlfriend, a sweet if rather dull girl with whom she'd spent a very pleasant year. She didn't hear Eleanor ascend the iron staircase, or hear the house rouse itself to follow her, and she didn't hear Eleanor fall.

* * *

After a day or two of enforced isolation in Hill House -- waiting for Eleanor's sister and brother-in-law to arrive and collect their car from the driveway (and Eleanor from the morgue), staying in the room to keep them from noticing she was wearing a dead woman's clothes -- Theo rejoined the world in Ashton, when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Theo'd almost forgotten the sensation. She answered it as Dr. Montague pulled into the train station parking lot. "Hello?"

"Theo?" Molly. Of course. "Where have you been? Did you get any of my texts?"

"No," Theo replied, although she could see the alerts piling up now. 36 missed texts, followed by twelve voicemail messages. Would there be any reason to listen to any of them? "I told you before I left, remember? Out in the middle of nowhere. No service."

"That's not an _excuse,_ Theodora. I'm done with this. All my stuff is already moved out, so when you get home..."

"... then I'll be absolutely certain to lose your number," said Theo, with a strange lightness filling her chest. She'd been wondering if she and Molly would have to Talk, capital-T, when she got back, but Molly had at last cut to the chase. Had it ever been better to be broken up with over the phone? "And do an inventory on the bookshelf. And the china cabinet."

"God, you're incorrigible. Goodbye." The call cut off, and Theo smiled. There had been good times with Molly, but those had all been longer ago than she cared to think about. She'd always worried about what it would be like without her, even when it was awful to live with her, but now a half-empty apartment seemed a positively cheerful process. After Hill House -- and after Eleanor -- it would be good to spend a while alone.


End file.
